


I Like to Watch (The Elder Wand)

by Dark_Svengali (Svengali_Khan)



Series: I Like to Watch (Potterverse) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-04-21 13:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14285793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svengali_Khan/pseuds/Dark_Svengali
Summary: AtThe Elder Wand, an exclusive gentleman's club, patrons pay their galleons to watch a beautiful dancer reveal himself in the most sensual of ways. One patron, in particular, keeps coming back, hoping to partake in the ultimate reveal.





	1. The Reveal

**Author's Note:**

> I have not tagged characters in this piece, as I want this reveal to be one which unfolds over the course of the story. Features such as eye color may have been changed, as well, to further the mystery. I hope this will be enticing rather than frustrating for you, gentle reader! Also, keep in mind, as we near the conclusion, this is my take on characters we all love. in some ways, I have thrown caution (and canon) to the wind! In others, I've been true to the source!
> 
> I have three distinct parts planned, each one numbering around 2K-4K words so this isn't going to be a long, drawn-out piece. It could, however, lead to others which will be derived from this premise, I haven't decided, yet. I'll label them all according to the Fan-verse they take place in.
> 
> Thank you, in advance, for your patience! All comments are welcome but constructive ones win imaginary cookies and real smiles from your author! Enjoy!!

Glass partitions separated the central octagon from the eight rooms branching out from it. In each of the rooms, a singular chair, overstuffed and comfortable, an oval table, awaited the patrons. The padded walls, carpeted floors, and furnishings were all black. Other than the recessed sconce over the door, the room had no light. Patrons of the establishment preferred the dark, as it guaranteed their privacy.

After depositing a sizable sum into his account, one such patron let himself into the eighth room, one reserved three nights ago by another sizable sum. Closing the door, he shrugged off the heavy traveling cloak and hung it on one of the three provided hooks. He let the black suit jacket slide from his shoulders, as well, adding it to the second. Before taking his seat, he hung an elegant black cane, tipped with a silver serpent, over the last.

On the table, a bottle of champagne chilled in an elegant container with no ice. A tall flute glass stood beside the container. He chose to indulge.  

Moments later, the faint light of the sconce faded, then winked out. Seconds after, the deep purple curtain rose up on the other side of the glass partition. The floor of the octagon, made from polished wood, was also painted black. He could see three other panes of the same glass, but no further than their surface. Those patrons in the other rooms sat in identical chairs, sipped identical champagne, and stared into the same opaque glass.

Warm jasmine wafted into the room, an olfactory illusion meant to set the tone. Slow, rhythmic music came from everywhere as a warm yellow light shown around the top and bottom of the octagon. Sparkling lights like electric fireflies came to life, dancing in no discernible pattern on the other side of his partition. Wisps of blue and purple smoke began rising up from the floor, more illusionary magic. Good, effective magic. As the smoke thickened, a vague, person-like figure could be spotted in the center of the room.

 At once, the man in the chair felt a pleasant swelling in his crotch. Already, the theatricality was well worth what he paid to be here.

In the center of the octagonal space, amid the swirling smoke, the figure moved one arm up and out, then the other, spreading his cloak like wings. In perfect synchronization, the music moved with him, sweeping and climbing as the figure swirled from one pane of glass to another, giving them all an opening introduction. Back in the center, he tipped back the hood, released the cloak, and it vanished in a single flash of blue-white light.

Underneath, the figure wore a loose black shirt with voluminous sleeves, a black vest decorated with silver thread sewn in the shape of various birds. His pants were fitted, disappearing into slouching black boots. On his face, he wore a molded mask, covering his forehead, nose, and both cheeks. Only the neat, trimmed mustache and beard were visible on his face. Black gloves with a wide cuff and silver trim completed his ensemble. His hair was pulled back into a neat knot.

He began to dance, this mysterious figure swathed from head to foot in all black. Beautiful arcs, elegant steps, he incorporated all of these things into his dance. On the inside of the enclosure, coins began to fall from the ceiling, glittering gifts from the patrons viewing his dance.

Leaning back, the man let his own finger slip over the small button on the arm of the chair. Depressing it would send fifty galleons into the octagon from his account. Still, he hesitated, wanting to see what this performer would do for his gratuity.

More purple smoke curled up from the floor, climbing the dancer's legs, winding into the insides of his thighs, moving up his torso. There, it began to dissolve the voluminous black shirt. Tight, round abdominals gave way to two solid pectorals topping his chest. Pronounced biceps revealed themselves as he flexed, now free of the shirt fabric. Wide shoulders tapered into his neck. More coins fell from the ceiling in appreciation of his reveal. Again, he began to dance, this time to a faster rhythm.

In the chair, the man realized several things about the dancer. His physique was not just muscular, he would describe it as unyielding. Even with such bulk, every move was executed with grace and erotic precision. More coins fell from the ceiling, prompting deeper knee lunges and more rhythmic hip thrusts, marking a sensual turn in the dance.

More purplish-blue smoke curled up from the floor, sliding in between the performer's legs, seeming to push them further apart. Each leg of the tight black pants began dissolving from the bottom up, leaving the black boots intact. Hard, thick columns of smooth, pale flesh appeared as the velvet disappeared. A few more gold galleons fell from the ceiling.

"Now, it's getting interesting," the man said, one finger tracing the button on his chair.

Under the pants, the dancer wore a posing strap, also with various birds stitched onto it with silver thread. Adequate for the task, the strap's front pouch contained the dancer's impressive shaft, leaving his entire backside exposed.

"I'm not going to fault you for your fashion choices," the man said, taking in the perfect globes. "Still, a little color wouldn't hurt." He lifted his glass and took a long drink.

Every turn and twist of the performer's body brought more curls of purple and blue smoke from the floor. Overhead, the light brightened, as did the sparkling lights. More of the dancer's beautiful body revealed itself. Halfway through a full revolution, well over a hundred galleons clattered to the floor, bringing about the disappearance of his black gloves. He raised one muscled leg, flexing his foot. The boot dissolved into a curl of black smoke, leaving five well-formed toes to flex and curl for his viewers to enjoy. Around the ankle, he wore a simple gold band, from which an ornamental gold coin dangled. Curving his body, he brought his bare foot down and repeated the trick.

"Merlin's cock," the man in the chair said, treated, as he was, to the sight of a most perfect ass. "How much to make that annoying pouch go away?"

As though he heard the question, the performer turned toward the partition, his lower body swaying to bring the full weight of his full pouch into view. Pale fingers rounded over the bulge, coaxing it to life. It swelled at the touch, the sizable length inside outlined in the fabric. The other hand curved over one hairy pectoral, his thumb finding the pink nipple.

"Cheeky fucker, I see," the patron smiled, watching the thumb tease the nipple to hardness. "Name your price, you bloody tease."

Two of the fingers on the bulging pouch disappeared into the thing, the remaining three spread out over the length. He ground his hips forward a few more times before turning toward the others in their own partitions. Reaching back, he pulled at the knot of hair on his head. A brilliant curtain of red-gold curls fell over his shoulders. The sparkling lights overhead flared to life as he shook out the tangles.  

Standing, the patron began piecing together the beautiful mystery undulating before him. Creamy white skin, muscular physique, telltale red-gold hair, it could only be a handful of people. Two steps forward brought him further out of the darkness the recessed alcove provided. Another step brought him within arm's length of the dancer's elegant body and crude, bulging pouch.

Cold gray-green eyes raked across the muscular figure, up to the face and the frustrating black mask. The figure's mustache and beard were trimmed, neat and close to his face, framing an angular jaw and cheek. Even with the mask, he was a handsome male specimen.

"You could be any one of them," the frustrated patron said to the figure, who smiled back.

Another shower of gold brought the performer to the glass across from the man's, giving him full view of the beautiful twin cheeks. The performer bent deep at the knee, each bare foot moving outward to deepen his lunge and open the dark crease. Several hip jabs pushed the pouch forward, opening his backside more and more. To give his viewers their money's worth, he snapped his fingers, brightening the lights overhead. Each of the eight patrons received an intimate view of the bulging pouch, with more than a hint of the thick, red-gold pubic hair crowning what was inside.

"How much now, you cheeky fuck?" The amused patron asked when the dancer neared his window.

Four fingers remained on the outside of the pouch. A knowing grin revealed straight, even teeth beneath the mustache. The tips of both nipples took on a bright, rosy color after being given two loving tugs by their owner.

"Four hundred galleons?"

The figure gave the slightest nod of his head, both thumbs rubbing the nipples again.

More coins fell from the ceiling, causing the performer to back away from the eighth partition. Six other patrons were rewarded with a gorgeous view of his perfect ass and a hint of what caused the bulge in his pouch. He ran both hands along the insides of his thighs to emphasize the full length. Like the patrons of _The Elder Wand_ , the dancer knew where the real  money lay in all of this. Just beyond the sight of the patrons, an indicator light for each room lit when the patron pressed their button and released gold from their account into the octagonal chamber. The more they dropped, the more they were able to see. None of the patrons in those eight side rooms could even enter the establishment without depositing a thousand galleons first.

Both hands slid down the full expanse of his tight stomach, ruffling the red-gold trail of thick hair. The tips of all ten fingers disappeared into the pouch, several of them sliding under the visible shaft. Using the backs of his hands, he pushed the pouch away from his body. Music thrummed in the small room, a steady rhythm matching the increasing pace of his hip rotations. White skin, red-gold pubic hair, and the hint of a very thick shaft of manhood dried the inside of the eighth patron's mouth. Both the dancer's thumbs slid down along the pulsing shaft.

Bending at the knees again, the dancer all but dropped to the floor. Exposed, he showed himself to each of the eight patrons, giving them equal time for the amount of gold they dropped. Glancing up at the display, he noted the time remaining.

Another rain of coins insured each of the patrons got a good, long look at the perfect mounds of his ass and a teasing hint of what lay inside the pouch. Blue and purple smoke began rising from the floor as he assumed a "push-up" position. He curved his back as he rose up, pushing his hips toward the floor. Lights above began dimming. One by one, the indicator lights above the eight side rooms blinked off, telling him their time was done. When just the eighth one remained, the dancer sank down into the blanket of billowing blue and purple smoke.

Unlike the other seven patrons, the eighth one remained. Each of the transparent panes of glass became opaque, except for his. Rising from the smoke, the almost-naked dancer tossed back the mane of thick hair and faced the glass. New music began, slow and rhythmic. New movements by the dancer were meant to elongate his torso and stretch his muscular legs. The pouch, still bulging with its enticing contents, became a secondary feature. This new dance highlighted the muscled godling in all of his half-naked glory. One hand held the front of the pouch while doing an artful curve. Another floor drop brought the dancer to a balanced position inches from the dark wood.  Through the mask, his eyes peered into the eighth room. He smiled.

A glittering shower of coins rained down on him in response.

Rising off the floor, the figure turned, exposing his milk-white cheeks again. Smoke rose up to caress his hard calves, sliding into the insides of his thighs. Then, as soft as a whisper, the dark strap around his waist dissolved into nothingness. Save for the ankle bands, the rings, and the mask, the muscular beauty stood naked in the soft light.

"Show me," the patron whispered, leaning forward in his chair. "No more teasing. Show me."

The figure swayed backward, its entire body a beautiful verse to an even more beautiful song. Muscles flexed and tensed, released and smoothed. His hair swayed from side to side. One hand extended to the left in a graceful gesture. The figure turned, his right hand searching for the edge of the black mask.

"Merlin's cock," the eighth patron said, getting to the edge of his seat. "After two months, you're going to show me who you are."

The mask slipped off as the dancer's head fell forward. Under the thick curtain of his hair, the features of his face fell into shadow. He moved closer to the glass, sending his features further into darkness. On the other side of the partition, the patron rose and walked over to the glass. His breathing slowed as his heart began to race. Naked, the pale redhead could have commanded anything of him and seen it fulfilled. Two inches of clear obstruction separated him from this magnificent specimen. The words to a powerful dissolving charm floated up into his memory but he knew _The Elder Wand_ would have countercharms against such things.

The dancer's head rose, lifting his face to the light. The patron felt the air leave his lungs, replaced by the weight of realization. He opened his mouth, his eyes locked with the clear blue ones looking back at him.

"Weasley," the patron whispered.

The dancer smiled, his own realization not as devastating. "Evening, Malfoy."

***

 


	2. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another trip to the _Elder Wand_ and things get a little more serious.

Blue tendrils of smoke rose up along the insides of the muscular male's thighs, snaking into the tight crevice of his full pouch. Behind each of the eight glass partitions, the patrons of the _Elder Wand_   watched the masked dancer's black leather pants dissolve. Clad now in just cuffed black boots and a subdued purple posing strap, the redhead began a series of revolutions designed to showcase his chiseled body for them.

Creamy white skin turned various shades of blue depending on how he revolved. The upper curves of his arms remained light and cool. The underside of his pecs and abs turned a hard, dark blue, as did the inside plains of his thighs and the downward curve of his calves.  Each buck of his hips brought one leg forward until he pressed himself against one pane of glass. Tinkling coins dropped from the ceiling. He noted the amount at the top of the partition, a figure only he could see. It was enough for him to bend forward and expose a little more of the roundness of his cheeks and the hint of reddish-gold hair at the V of his posing pouch. More coins dropped from the ceiling.

Bending at the knee, he sidled over to another of the partitions, pressing the flat of his palm against the glass. Letting one knee touch the floor, he angled his torso so the pouch became far more prominent. Galleons dropped from the ceiling. Smiling his thanks, the redhead spread his legs so the tip of the pouch touched the glass.

Thrumming music by the _Strange Sons_ sounded in all of the partitions. The dancer's beautiful body moved in time with it, hips and arms moving in counterpoint to one another. After the smaller gold donation, he stood again and began another sort of dance which conjured purple smoke from all eight sides of his dancing area. This smoke curled around his feet, sliding up along his ankles and over his calves. The nature of the smoke was known only to his brother, who gave him the idea for such an enchantment in the first place. The boots dissolved upon contact, leaving his feet bare.

From behind the eighth partition, gray-green eyes watched each turn of the dancer's body. An incessant hunger gnawed at his insides as he watched. Knowing who moved behind the mask made all of this much more absurd and far more erotic. All those years ago, he never thought he would be here, in a place like this, watching a show like this.

Glittering pieces of purple fabric began disappearing with the next release of the blue and purple smoke. The straps were first, allowing the dancer time enough to shield his privates before the pouch met the same fate. As with previous performances, the dancer released his long red waves and tossed his head a few times to shake out the tangles. His hand stayed in place, even as he dropped to the floor and did a few impressive push-ups with the strength of just one arm and his spread legs.

"Always the show-off, eh, Weasley?" The man behind the glass partition said, a thoughtful grin spreading over his face. "What's it going to take, I wonder, for a private show?"

The masked redhead turned his head toward the eighth partition. His other hand came up, fingers spread. He flashed his palm once, twice, then a third time. He eased his body down onto the floor and ground his hips a few times. A literal shower of gold rained down on him as the lights in his octagonal area began dimming.

"Fifteen hundred galleons?" The man asked, impressed with the sum. "Does it include clothes?"

The redhead nodded.

"Of course it does. You'll be paid to remove them, I'm assuming."

Another knowing nod, punctuated with a grin of his own.

"I'll speak to the management."

Inside the octagon, the lights dimmed. The dancer touched a panel above the area any of the patrons could see. At the same time, the glass of the partitions turned opaque, blocking him from their view. In the semi-privacy, he waved his hand and recalled the mental command for the spell he needed. Seconds later, he wore a different version of his original costume. Complex magic but effective for his chosen path in this sort of entertainment.

The audible click which preceded the coins startled him. Glancing up at the counter above partition eight, he read two thousand galleons. He smiled. _A generous tip_ , he thought, striding over to the partition in question. He whispered the proper incantation for the glass to disappear. Two steps brought him further and one dropped him into the cozy room with its singular chair, table, and smiling blond patron. The glass reappeared with a whisper.

"Why not take the mask off?" The patron asked, waving his hand as if to wave it away.

Reaching up, the redhead released the strap holding it in place. "Consider this your five-hundred galleon freebie," he said with a smile. The mask disappeared in a curl of blue smoke.

"Teleportation spells," The blond said. "I wondered how you were making your clothes disappear. Ingenious use of your lessons, I'll give you that."

"Would you expect anything less from a pureblood, Malfoy?"

The redhead strode forward, confidence in his step. The half-vest and pants with their split sides showed portions of his body as he moved. One hand rose, causing the bangles around his wrists to sound. A ruby set in a net of gold filigree glinted. The blond did not move, not even when the hand caressed the side of his face. Not even when the other hand eased into the soft cotton of his shirt, down its front to where the open V met with his pants.

"Any requests?" The redhead asked. "Two thousand galleons buys you more leeway than most, after all. But then, you know that, don't you?"

Malfoy smiled, a gesture which eased the lines of his face and brought out the stark, handsome features. Around his eyes, the release in tension stripped away the last five years. The neat, trimmed mustache and beard could not compete with the gesture of genuine pleasure.

"Costumes don't impress me, Weasley. You do but they don't."

The redhead brought his chest closer. "Maybe you'll do me the honor then?"

"No magic, then?"

"That depends on your skill at buttons and hooks."

One slender finger slid into the front of the vest and released the top latch. A diamond of pale flesh revealed itself. The back of the finger slid down against the cool skin. Another hook fell open. Another. Another. The vest fell open and its wearer shrugged it off. It vanished before it could hit the floor, part of its enchantment. Malfoy's hand curved over the firm bulge in the front of the pants. He leaned forward and inhaled the musky scent.

"I always thought you lot to be so far beneath me." He said, breathing in the scent. "Your brothers, your sister, all of you being so very _common_ , it irritated me."

The redhead thrust his hips forward. "Now, though, it seems you enjoy a bit of common. You enjoy slinking out of your comfortable life, away from your rules and restrictions, and slumming it with the likes of a _common_ dancer with the body of a god."

"How did you manage this body, by the way?"

"Quidditch," he said with a chuckle.

"Do any of your brothers look like you?"

"With one exception, we all do." He held onto the hand in his crotch, grinding his hips against it. "We're all pretty active, we all eat right, thanks to mum. We exercise on the regular. We all look like this under our shabby clothes. I just happen to like showing off how I look."

"I'll bet your mum doesn't approve."

"We've all made choices she doesn't approve of. Joke shops, dragon hunting, dark-wizard capturing, clothing-maker, chocolatier, circus performer, Muggle-watcher…"

"Stripper," Malfoy said, letting the tips of his fingers slide into the fastening square of the pants. The button came loose. "Dancer. Whatever you call yourself."

"Funny thing, words." The redhead rotated his hips, frustrating the unfastening of the next button. "If I were doing this very thing in front of dignitaries from other wizarding countries, it would be respected and I would be called an entertainer. Because I'm doing it where I am, how I am, dressed as I am – for who I am, I'm called a _stripper_."

"I could think of other things to call you, Weasley."

"Yeah?" His hips slowed as the fingers released the third button and the pants fell away. "Like what?"

The fingers slid into the top of the pouch. "Mine?"

"You didn't pay for that," the redhead said, taking hold of his wrist. "You paid for a private session. One full hour of admiration and entertainment."

"I see." Malfoy withdrew his hand. "I paid for you to entertain me, then?"

Strong hands eased aside the white cotton shirt, exposing lean, pale muscle. In the half-light of the room, their skin shone the same creamy white. The redhead eased the shirt down and off, letting it fall to the floor. He leaned in and pressed his lips to the upper portion of Malfoy's neck, just under his earlobe.  Another kiss followed. Another to the side of the face, another to the jawbone. The last was on the lips, startling them both.

"What part of what I paid for was that?"

The redhead smiled. "Admiration, of course."

Another tender kiss to Malfoy's lips brought them open in the easiest and slowest way. Tongues touched, slid against one another. Malfoy's hand tangled in the thick, long, red hair. His other hand pressed against the firm pectoral. He felt himself being maneuvered, turned away from the door. He back-stepped to the chair and allowed himself to be seated. The redhead separated them.

With a snap of his fingers, the sensual sounds of the _Strange Sons_ filled the room. Tossing his head, clearing away the hair from his face, the redhead began undulating his hips as he turned. Blue and purple flashes of soft light went off around him as he began to dance. The song became hypnotic during its chorus, the lyrics talking of seduction and the exchange of gold. He dipped his head, rolled his torso, and gave another revolution. Spreading his legs, he bent at the waist, showing the fullness of his bare cheeks. The posing strap held his bulge. Reaching through his legs, he let his fingers graze the pouch, stirring what was inside.

"Back up," Malfoy instructed him.

In the most sensual of ways, the dancer did as commanded until the hand and the pouch it held were inches away from the blond's face. In an incredible display of personal power, the redhead brought one leg up to the arm of the chair, then the other. Balancing himself, he lowered his head until it rested on Malfoy's legs.

The heady scent of the dancer filled the blond's nostrils. Easing forward, he pressed a kiss to the hand holding the bulge. As if by magic, the hand slid down. He pressed another kiss to the bulge, itself. What was inside stirred against his lips. The redhead's shoulders faced away from him, toward the partition. They came to rest on his legs, as well.  Turning his head, he pressed a kiss into the gentle slope of bare skin, against what rounded up into two perfect globes. He knew, if he parted those globes, the secret ring of sensitive flesh would be revealed.

"Not yet," the redhead told him, as though reading his mind. "That's something for a different session, all together. Focus on why you're here, Malfoy. The dancer's hand slid along the inside of the blond's thigh. "Focus on the now, not the future."

Both hands slid down the insides of the redhead's thighs, then around to his calves, over to each of the ankles. The boldness of the dancer's body position, the unassuming bulge pulsing in front of him, the heady scent of musk coming from the open hollows of his armpits – all of it was making him drunk with unbridled lust. Restraint came from the dancer's last name and what it would mean to give in to what he wanted to do.

"At least I'm a pureblood, like you," the dancer said, easing his body forward. Balancing himself on Malfoy's knees, he brought his hips down until the bulging pouch touched the bulge in the blond's pants. "Our being together isn't going to produce any unwanted red-haired proof of what we've done. Only you and I would know what went on here."

Malfoy looked as though he might pass out as their crotches began rubbing hard against one another. His right hand slid down the length of the other's bare back while his left clamped hard on the rounded calf muscle.

"Should I summon the smoke?"

"Smoke?"

The redhead pushed his crotch hard into Malfoy's. "Or, you can just take it off of me – with your teeth."

"W-with…my teeth? How did you—"

"Harry wasn't the only one good at Occlumency, Malfoy." From over his shoulder, the redhead's smile widened. "Are you going to do it, then? Are you going to take it off me and have your way with me?" The smile faded a bit as he ground his hips down. "Or do you just want to watch?"

***


End file.
